


Vigil

by ishafel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John disappears two days before Halloween.</p><p>Remixed here:  http://community.livejournal.com/remix_redux/32676.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

John Winchester disappears two days before Halloween. It's not the first time Sam and Dean have come home from school to find him gone, the house empty and cold. They're eight and twelve now: old enough to be left home for a few days, a week. Even two. But John's never left like this--never left the Impala in the driveway with the trunk full of weapons, never left the lights on in the house and the doors unlocked. He's never left them without leaving a note before, either, or an envelope with as much cash as he can manage, enough for cereal and milk and bread and peanut butter for the time he'll be gone, and some extra for just in case.

So they know something's wrong. Not right away, but pretty quickly. The house is small, the town not much bigger. There're only so many places he could be--and he isn't. Still they don't panic. Not right away. They can't bring themselves to believe anything could have taken John Winchester by surprise: not in his own house, with its lines of salt at the doorways, runes pencilled under the window sills, crucifix on the wall in the kitchen. They think it's a training exercise, a test of some kind.

They think, We have to find Dad, but there's no real urgency in it. They think, what would dad want us to do? Sam goes through the house renewing the wards, while Dean searches their father's room. Finds Dad's jacket flung over the back of a chair, wallet and car keys still in the pocket. Dad's bag on the floor of the closet, half-packed as always, and the journal wedged between the bedframe and the mattress. Nothing's been written in it in weeks--they've been coasting since they laid the ghosts in St. Paul, waiting for Dad's wrist to heal and Dean's bruises to fade.

This is when Dean starts to panic. He tells Sam what he found, but not what it means. There's still a good hour of daylight left, so he sends Sam outside to check for clues, and he calls Pastor Jim and Bobby and leaves messages. It's long distance, and Dad'll be mad if this turns out not to be an emergency, but he doesn't know what else to do.

Whatever it is, it's in the house. That's what Dean figures. That, or Dad's playing some kind of game with them. While Sam's busy looking for blood in the gravel driveway, he goes through the house room by room. It's small, and it isn't that old. And he doesn't know what he's looking for. Whatever it is, it took his dad in daylight, and it took him without a struggle. Dean doesn't cry, partly because he's too old and partly because if Sammy catches him he'll be that much more upset. Right now, he still halfway thinks this is an adventure, and Dean wants him to keep on thinking that.

That night they eat frozen waffles and tunafish and cookies for dinner, and before it gets completely dark they lock the house and go outside to sleep in the car. They're not supposed to be out at night, but this is the best compromise Dean can come up with. It's the end of October, and it's Indiana, so it's cold but not unbearable. Dean's dragged out all of the blankets he can find, and he lets Sam have the back seat. They're both tired, even though Sam would never admit it, and Dean reads The Stand out loud, propping the flashlight on his knees, until Sam falls asleep. After that, Dean sits up in the front, leaning against the steering wheel, the flashlight in one hand and Dad's Magnum in the other.

The house sits to his left, cold and dark and empty, the windows blank as the eyes of the corpse. Dean watches it out of the corner of his eye, half-afraid and half-fascinated. He's forgotten to bring a watch, and the night seems to drag on forever. There are so many things he's afraid to think about: what might be happening to Dad right now, what will happen if they never find him. What he'll tell Sammy in the morning. Sam's snoring a little in the back, curled on his side. Dean wants to shake him awake, wants to ask him what'll happen if Dad's dead. How he can sleep, when they could end up in foster care.

But it isn't Sam's fault. Not that Dad's missing, and not that Sam's asleep, rolled in his comforter and Dad's both. Dean and Dad've both done their best to keep Sam protected, and he shouldn't be mad that Sam feels safe. His fingers are cramping around the grip on the gun. It wasn't made for a kid's hand, and it's too big for him to hold comfortably. That doesn't mean he isn't a good shot, though. Dad says he's as good as any Marine he ever saw.

He puts the gun on the dashboard for a minute, blows on his fingers. Gloves are something else he forgot. Dad says no matter how prepared you think you are, you always forget something. You'd better be sure it's not something like the gun or the ammunition, is all. That's why Dad needs Dean--to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything important, and to watch his back. But today Dean was at school, and no one was there to watch out for Dad.

When it starts to get light, he wakes Sam, gives him the gun. Tells him to stand watch until he sees traffic on the street. He closes his eyes and falls asleep instantly. When Sam says his name he comes awake, and it feels like two minutes and not two hours. The sun's up in the sky, and he figures it for nine o'clock in the morning. There still aren't many cars, but that's because it's Saturday, not because there's something wrong.

He and Sam walk around to the back of the house and piss on the weeds in the neglected flower bed, and wash their hands and faces and drink the icy water from the tap. Dean's starving, and he knows Sam must be, too. They split the last of the Oreos and after that there's nothing left to do but go in the house.

Dean takes the gun and goes point, and he gives Sam a knife to use as backup. Chances are pretty good there's nothing in the house that can be shot. But the gun makes him feel better anyway.

There's nothing in the house, full stop. They check every inch of every room, even the attic and the basement. There's nothing out of place, nothing changed since yesterday morning. Except that Dad's still missing. Dean sends Sam into the living room to watch television, while he stands in the kitchen checking the messages on the answering machine. He doesn't takes his eyes off Sam, but he doesn't say anything when Sam sits too close to the t.v., either. He coils the phone cord around his fingers while he listens to them talk: Pastor Jim, saying he doesn't know what's going on, but are they safe? Do they have enough to eat? Caleb, saying that Jim called him, and he doesn't know anything either. Bobby, saying sit tight; he's cutting through Kentucky and he'll be there by dark.

It's an unexpected reprieve. Dean had known when he made the calls that someone would come--Dad had promised him that, a long time ago, that someone would always come, no foster homes, no orphanages, no being split up. But he hadn't dared hope it would be so soon. His head aches, and he can't keep from blinking back tears. There's a roll of paper towels on the counter, and he turns to tear one off. It only takes a second, and when he looks up Sam is gone.

He doesn't remember reaching for it, but suddenly the Magnum's in his hand. All he can think is, Dad was an accident, Dad was no one's fault. But whatever got Sam got him on Dean's watch. There's nothing, no sign Sam was ever kneeling there on the rug. The t.v.'s still blaring. There's no hole in the floor, no smudges in the runes on the window, the salt lines before the door, no smoke, no blood, nothing wrong at all but Sam's absence. Dean sits on the floor and prays that whatever it was, it will take him, too.

He stays where he is for hours without moving, barely breathing, until his legs ache. It's after noon when he opens the door and goes outside. The Impala is still waiting in the driveway, but its presence is reproachful now, not comforting. Dean puts a hand on its sun-warm hood, in passing. Dad taught him to drive last year, early mornings and late nights in strip mall parking lots and on back roads. But running never solves anything.

Instead he walks to the library, and spends what's left of the day reading through old newspapers and a thin pamphlet of county history. As far as he can tell, there are no unsolved mysteries, no inexplicable disappearances, nothing out of the ordinary. His dad probably chose it for that very reason.

Bobby pulls in at six o'clock. Dean hears the roar of the diesel engine coming, and composes himself as much as he can. He's tired and cold, and the Magnum is heavy against the small of his back when he gets out of the car. He wants to run to Bobby, throw his arms around him and never let go. He wants Bobby to tell him that everything will be okay. But if Dad taught him nothing else, he taught him pride. Winchesters stand tall no matter what.

The first thing Bobby says to him is, "Where's Sam?".

Dean bites his lip and looks down. "I didn't--" he says.

Bobby touches his shoulder lightly. "Didn't what, Dean?" he asks.

"Didn't mean to," Dean starts and then it all comes out in a rush. "I only took my eyes off him for a second, I swear. I had to go back into the house to check the answering machine, and I couldn't leave him outside. He was just gone."

Bobby slides an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, kiddo. You did the best you could, with the information you had. That's all anyone can do." Dad told them once that Bobby has two grown children of his own who don't speak to him, who think he's crazy. It's the worst thing Dean can imagine, after losing his family altogether. He presses himself against Bobby's comfortable bulk, soft where his father is hard, and then he does cry.

They stand like that for a while, until the last of the sun is gone, and then Bobby says, "Let's do this."

They go in fast, guns at the ready. Dean hangs on to Dad's Magnum; Bobby has a pump-action shotgun and an axe on his belt. But there's nothing to fight, nothing but shadows. They go through the house one more time, bottom to top and back again, and end in the living room, in the spot in front of the television that's the last place Dean saw Sam.

"Right," Bobby says. "John ever say anything to you about thinnies? Places where reality breaks down?"

Dean shakes his head. "Is that even possible?"

Bobby shrugs. "Dunno. It's as likely as anything else, I expect." He kneels, cuts a hole in the wall to wall carpet. Dad is going to be pissed. They'll never get the deposit back. If they get Dad back.

Underneath, the floor is some kind of thin, cheap wood that loks like cardboard. There's no blood, no sign that this is anything out of the ordinary. Bobby reaches out, slowly, and places his hand on it. After a moment, Dean follows suit. It feels like it looks, rough and unfinished, cool to the touch: nothing unexpected. Except that it shudders, ever so slightly, under their hands. Dean recognizes the sensation. It's the way a dozing horse might shudder, trying to dislodge a fly. It's as if something feels them on its skin.

"Truck," Bobby says, and they look at each other, ashamed, because both of them want to run. Outside, Bobby digs behind the seat, comes up with a huge leatherbound book with handwritten pages. "Grimoire," he says when he ses Dean looking at it. "Took it off a witch in New Orleans--knew it'd come in handy someday."

He flips through it quickly. Dean watches him, not daring to hope. In his experience, neither magic nor adults has proved entirely reliable. But--"Here," Bobby says, pointing to an intricate diagram. "I think this'll do it."

"I think there's some chalk in the car," Dean says. "Do we need anything else?"

"Not chalk, anyway," Bobby answers. "Blood. This is big, Dean. Not just a charm or rune to keep stuff out. We got to do this right."

"Okay," Dean says, a little reluctantly. Bobby's a good guy to have at your back when you need another gun, and he's good at fixing cars, but he's also Dad's age and kind of heavy and totally ordinary, and he doesn't really look like a magician. "Tell me what we need, then."

Bobby flicks a glance at him like he knows what Dean's thinking, but unlike Dad he doesn't seem to mind. He traces the diagram with his finger. "Blood, like I said. A knife, which we've got. A silver bowl to put it in, a couple of dozen candles. Chamomile, peppermint, calendula, lavender, and red clover. Those I got, mostly, or close enough. And human bone--finger bones. Those I reckon we're going to have to get tonight. Chocolate, too. Some of those little Snickers bars."

Dean's distracted, thinking of the finger bones. There's a cemetery outside town, probably far enough outside to be deserted. "Snickers bars? Really?"

"Yeah," Bobby says. "Tomorrow's Halloween. If I can't get you to trick or treat for me, I'll have to buy it."

Dad doesn't joke around when it comes to hunting. Dean isn't sure he approves of Bobby doing it, either. "I like Milky Ways better," he volunteers a little tentatively.

"Atta boy," Bobby says, and grins at him, and Dean smiles for the first time since Sam disappeared.

They find a silver bowl at a pawnshop off the highway, and the candles and Bobby's candy at KMart. Dinner at Wendy's, which Sam would have thought was a real treat. It's nine o'clock by the time they're finished, and Dean's practically asleep on his feet, but it's still hours too early to dig up bodies and not get caught.

They drive back to the house and bunk in the Impala, which is not actually all that much bigger inside than Bobby's truck. But once Dean's back in the front seat, rolled in blankets, he can't relax enough to go to sleep. "Tell me a story," he says, and flinches when he realizes he's said it out loud. He sounds younger than Sammy, even.

But Bobby doesn't laugh. "I was in the war with your daddy," he says, and Dean goes still. This is one thing John never, ever talks about. And the one thing Dean's most curious about.

"You were?" he asks.

"Yeah, in '69 or '70, maybe," Bobby says. "We were both kids then. Not a whole lot older'n you. I'd been over there a couple months when John got there, just long enough to know how shit-stupid the whole thing was. Kinda like hunting in the dark, in the rain, for something you weren't even sure you wanted to kill. There were two types of guys over there--the ones who were terrified, and the ones who were too stupid to be terrified."

"Which kind was my dad?" Dean asks. Dad isn't stupid, but Dean can't imagine him being afraid.

"He was terrified," Bobby says. "He was--he volunteered, Dean, did you know that? He was in college, M.I.T., and his best friend got killed in '68, so he dropped out and joined up. And I think he had this idea in his head, that he'd avenge the guy's death or something. And then he got over there, and there wasn't anybody to get revenge on. Nothing nearly that organized. Just a bunch of kids on one side barely out of high school, and a bunch of desperate people trying to keep'em out, on the other. Your dad was a pretty good officer for a college boy, once he got things figured out. You remind me of him, a little bit."

"Dad?" Dean's flattered, but doubtful. "He would never have let Sammy get taken. Sometimes I'm so dumb. Sam's smarter than me, and he's practically still a baby."

Bobby snorts. "First off, Sam's smarter than me, too, so don't let that bother you. But your dad's made plenty of mistakes. The kind that get people killed. Doesn't mean he's stupid, or a bad guy. But when you do what we do, there isn't much margin for error."

Bobby means it, too. Dean doesn't exactly believe it, not completely, but he believes Bobby does. And he feels better. "Okay," he says. And yawns so hard his jaw cracks.

"Sleep," Bobby says, and Dean does.

He wakes to Bobby's hand, gentle on his arm. "Time to go, Dean."

He's up and in the truck before he remembers. It's bitterly cold and dark out. "Time is it?" he mumbles.

"Three on the dot," Bobby says. "Halloween morning. Gonna need you to stand guard while I dig, Dean. This isn't a great time to be playin' in graveyards."

"Yeah," Dean says. "You think that has something to do with the thinny thing? Halloween, I mean?"

Bobby sighs. "Could be. There's legends that say that's when the border between the worlds is thinnest. Makes a certain amount of sense, I guess."

They choose a grave that's ten years old, an old man's grave with nothing on the headstone about family or virtue, and Bobby starts to dig. Dean stands at attention, the Magnum's weight comfortable in his hand, but there's nothing out of place. By the time Bobby's got the sod more or less tamped down, it's just starting to get light.

They stop at a gas station on the edge of town, and Bobby doesn't even blink when Dean gets coffee with tons of milk and sugar, and three doughnuts with marshmellow filling. Dean kind of loves Bobby, above and beyond being grateful Bobby came when he called. But at the same time, he misses Dad, and whatever Dad would have said about breakfast being the most important meal of the day.

When they get back to the house they sit in the truck for a while. Bobby finishes his coffee, and the sun comes the rest of the way up. "Let's do this," Bobby says finally, taking a deep breath.

They go into the house. Dean's halfway hoping Dad and Sam'll be back, even though he knows they won't. He sets the candles out while Bobby draws blood into a syringe. "You're good at that," he says.

Bobby smiles. "I was a medic," he says. "In 'Nam. Anyway, I'm good at everything." He draws the design on the floorboards with careful, steady attention, and then traces over it with a fingerbone dipped in blood.

Dean checks it against the picture in the witch book. "Perfect," he says.

Bobby lights the candles, and he and Dean walk a circle around the place where Sam disappeared. Bobby prays out loud, in Latin, and Dean prays in English in his head. By the third time around, the boundary of the circle glows, even where the candles aren't. "Ephphatha," Bobby says, a slur of consonants that doesn't even sound like a word.

The area inside the circle shimmers. It's working. Suddenly Sam and Dad are there, Sam on his knees and Dad on his feet. This means it's time for Dean to do his job. With the knife, he cuts a gate in the circle, and beckons to Dad. Thankfully, Dad gets it right away. He scoops up Sammy and squeezes through the opening.

As soon as the circle is empty, Bobby spills the blood left in the bowl so that it obscures the design. The shimmering stops instantly. He and Dean blow out the candles, and walk three times widdershins around the circle. That quickly, it's over.

"What the hell happened here?" John Winchester demands, looking at Dean, at Bobby, at the blood and the hole in carpet.

"Happy Halloween," Bobby says, and Dean laughs until he has to sit down.


End file.
